


Azure and Ebony Voltaic Chains

by Andreinightleaf



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, 蒼き雷霆 ガンヴォルト | Azure Striker Gunvolt
Genre: Close Friendship, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Other, Slow beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andreinightleaf/pseuds/Andreinightleaf
Summary: Regardless of our will, the world is ever-changing. The two of them felt it clearly on their own skin, as it was those changes, the growing distance between themselves and what their home had become, that caused them to leave all that they had once known behind. And now, both warriors struggled to even come by on a daily basis, wanted for what they were, who they were, and desiring to keep fighting for their beliefs, to shape the future into something peaceful, where Adepts and Reploids would not live condemned lives solely based on their beings. In the resemblance of their past, the mirror-like similarity of their current situation, they would form a connection, and do their best to take care of each other, at the same time they had to deal with the hardship of building up their own lives, and standing up against the world's likely most influential organization.





	1. Desertion

   He had been his father figure.

   His own story had only really begun when he found him; saved him from an uncertain, likely crippling fate, and maybe he didn’t even need to have done it. Perhaps he _had_ seen potential in the young one, but back where he had been, when he was rescued, he’d been nothing. A nobody. Wanted, but in a bad way. No friends or family to speak of—had he even been really aware of himself? Maybe the rescuer had to deal with a zombie. What could he have wanted with such a thing? Regardless, he’d saved him—and technically, proceeded to raise him as his own son.

   It wasn’t a normal father-son relationship, no. How could it be, when the man was a warrior, leader of a newly-founded organization of like-minded fighters? He might have raised him to learn about life, how to go by, how to understand the wide world around him, but he also raised him to fight. He’d seen his powers, the valuable asset he could become, were he to work for him. So the man trained him, developed those skills, for long years. The young one became a member of the organization, and soon, its most able representative. Being sent on various missions, even by himself, it was clear how the leader trusted him, and put faith in his abilities. In turn, the older was like a beacon of light for him, guiding him and being a close companion of sorts. He trusted in him just as much, and would do nearly everything for him.

   Yet, with time… the younger noticed something was wrong. The missions the others were being sent on were becoming more questionable in content. Innocent people were being hurt. The one who raised him, his adoptive parent, had grown more distant somehow, seeming invested in his own plans—plans he was not entirely privy to. Plans he thought he’d understood from the beginning. Why was he being so secretive now? Why were their methods so… uncivil, now? Whatever had happened, things had changed. Nobody was the same anymore, especially the one whom he’d looked up to all of his life. The organization was not the same anymore. Their goals, ideals; were they different now, too? Was he really fighting for what he believed in, or was he currently just a pawn in this twisted, enigmatic arrangement? This wasn’t… this wasn’t him. His mentor was gone, no longer the attentive, encouraging man he once knew. This wasn’t home anymore.

   After a mission where one of his coworkers slayed a pleading civilian before his very eyes, he deserted the organization, leaving all he had once known behind.

   This was how the story of Axl and Gunvolt began.

 

   The two had much the same background, and even then, at first, they hadn’t known about each other’s existence. One was a Reploid; the other, an Adept. Their personalities differed somewhat, but one thing was certain; they held their own beliefs, they walked their own paths, and would not be controlled by anyone. Seeing their father figures, Red for Axl, Asimov for Gunvolt, stray from what they believed they’d always fought for, they did what they thought was best, and left. To hurt innocent people? To act so brashly and selfishly as a normal stance of so many missions? They wouldn’t do that. As much as they were raised by them, they were no toys. They developed their own character with time, and came to be individuals, just like everyone else—or perhaps, even more than everyone else. Untainted by the media, scoffing at the lies and slander of past coworkers, their minds belonged to them, and them only. They would not follow anyone, even their mentors, into darkness. As the familiar figures walked beyond unseen depths, they halted by the border, and would not leave the grey area. Instead, they turned back, and even if they stayed in the clouded area in-between, at least they knew they would be trying to reach the light.

   Dropping from a life they’d known for so long was not easy, though. They no longer had a place to call home, a room of their own or place to sleep, and there was no higher entity paying their bills anymore. Gunvolt needed to eat, among other necessities; Axl could probably need a resting capsule at some point, or repairs. Usually money was able to acquire all of that, even if some places could offer free food or repairs. So they both needed it, even though the Adept, even more so. As warriors who had done almost nothing but fight all their lives, they didn’t think normal jobs would fit for them at all. Call centers? Nurses? Supermarket staff? These things were just not for them. What they did best was combat, infiltration, intel gathering on site—and that’s exactly what they would keep doing, even as freelancers.

   Times of peace would be preferable, their last dream, probably. But with how the world currently was, especially where they were, there could be no peace. At least, not for Adepts and Reploids. Sumeragi was a group, an organization that had existed for many centuries, conducting research and experiments on those gifted with higher currents of the Lifewave when born. These people, nowadays called Adepts, have always been either desired or hunted by mankind, but Sumeragi had never had such a big influence on their lives, or any aspect of society. That is, back then. In the contemporary world, the institution had managed to become an actual company—yes, a power company—, that took control of all the other power industries in the surroundings, and eventually started controlling the media, growing a military of its own that overpowered the government’s, and even taking space development under their wing. Sumeragi was the de facto ruling group of the nation, and had a say in everything. No one could stop them.

   But they didn’t believe that. They tried, and they’d keep trying—because otherwise there would be no peace for them. The research and experimentation on Adepts hadn’t stopped now that the organization had other things to worry about, no, it became even worse; it had a monopoly on the analysis of these special humans, and it was unforgiving. Nonconsensual, brutal, probing, disregardful of the subject’s wants and emotions. There was kidnapping, death, and torture involved. Brainwashing, manipulation, imprisonment, what have you. Hundreds of Adepts “lived” and died in hellish conditions, simply because of what they were. Still humans, still mortal, but still handled like monsters simply for having Septimal powers. To add further injury to the injury they’d already done, now, they were after Reploids, too. Barely spared them a glance once robots started being invented in the past century, then Reploids in this century, but with the outbreak of Mavericks and how useful they saw the androids as servants and military force, it was now in their high interests to monopolize Reploid creation entirely—and during their fabrication, insert chips in them that would cause brainwashing, if the person in question were to become a Maverick or go against Sumeragi’s wishes. In short, they wanted to have complete control over everyone; capture and torture or brainwash the capable fighters, which were Adepts and Reploids, and keep the weak humans tame and oblivious with the media.

   That was how organizations like Red Alert and QUILL came to be. Red and Asimov sought freedom for their own species, and the ceasing of the abuse caused by Sumeragi, even if it meant killing its leaders and destroying their base. If possible, that was their ultimate first goal, as they were focused on combat, and didn’t think it would ever be possible for the enemy to simply agree with a truce, and stop their schemes entirely. Evil-minded, greedy and power-driven institutions would never let go of their past so easily, and not without any cards up their sleeves, either. They could not rest until the company was disbanded, people of power taken out of life’s equation, its ideals burned to the ground, “research centres” (more like concentration camps) wiped off the map. They were the most able known resistance groups in current times, but had definitely taken a blow with the desertion of their two best warriors. “Terrorists”, the media referred to these groups as. And the term followed Gunvolt and Axl wherever they went—complicating the process of getting any contracts at all even more.

   At first, things had been rough, with them barely knowing where to start to get contracts. The Reploid thought it a blessing that public resting rooms existed—locales with resting capsules for Reploids to regain their energy through electricity currents. He didn’t need the capsules and the energy they offered themselves, only a place to sleep, really. Could be more private, but without a home, a closed capsule like this was the safest and most private place he could manage to sleep in. Maybe it wouldn’t grip him with anxiety too much… at least, after he got used to it. At the start, he might not even be able to sleep. One would think the place would be crowded with Reploids, but most of them worked, and had better resting rooms in their own facilities. It was actually not a much visited place—perhaps thirty people a day was a lot. So sharing a locale with three or so other Reploids at night, in different “chambers”, per se, was actually not that bad in theory. Nobody talked to him or asked him questions, which he was also thankful for. A written rule about public resting rooms consisted of not questioning attendees about their reasons for utilizing the facility, so his motives for having ended up here would probably be safe. Nobody would like to know about the destruction he’d caused for the greater good—either that, or they would be thankful, as they were Reploids, too. They simply couldn’t just accept Sumeragi’s blatant manipulation of them, could they?

   The Adept, in turn, had briefly thought about a homeless shelter, or trying to sleep somewhere in his school. None of these options were too inviting at all, so in his first day out, he hadn’t slept. Tired as he was, with all the underlying stress of leaving his past home, he simply stayed inside a 24-hour food place charging his phone and searching for contracts. Before going out of QUILL, he had made sure to pick his spare meal coupons, that would keep him fed for a few days at least, maybe a week or so. He really had no money to spare besides what he had carried for emergencies, and had to get an assignment soon. Asking his teachers for help was out of the question; he didn’t really trust them, and it would lead to questions about his current living and financial condition. If you can still afford paying for school, why would you need money for anything else? Considering his situation as having “illegally” enrolled in school—without Asimov paying the bills, he used his powers to hack into the school’s computer system and make sure he would still be enrolled, having his data say that he had already paid for his monthly stay without him having actually done so—, any ask for help would arise suspicion. It was already hard getting by without them. He could have been the only Adept in his class, and though he had almost full control of his powers, it wasn’t a given reassurance that accidents would never happen. Were he less cool-headed than he was, something would probably have happened already. Teenagers were cruel, feckless, naïve, and it almost hurt to be around such types of people for so long. Not everything could be blamed on the manipulation of the media by Sumeragi, but he half-blamed them for it. They were also probably still mentally kids, pre-teens—parents paying everything for them, everything was just homework and fun. Barely stopped playing with toys. The thought that he could have ended up like them, if he had had a normal life since the start, no fighting and missions and mature subjects to deal with in QUILL, terrified him some. Of course, it was the dream life of every young one, but… Gunvolt simply wasn’t born for that. As soon as he’d developed a proper body inside the womb, the current of the Lifewave choosing him to be a bearer of Septimal powers, his fate had already been decided. And maybe, that simply had been the best outcome. Now, he completely had to deal with everything himself; find a home, contracts, pay the bills. One look at him, his stance, his eyes, was enough to tell that he wasn’t a child. He was already an adult, a man, simply with a younger body, and prone to a few rebellious streaks and hormonal lows and highs. Not that anyone could usually tell when he was happy or fuming inside.

   It was the second day out when Zeno called him. Zeno was a coworker and friend at QUILL, who always supported him in his missions, outside of duty, and was sometimes his operator. They might have been the closest comrades in the organization, aside from him and Asimov, and the only reason the blond had left nearly without a word was because he still had his phone number, and had no doubt they’d see each other again sometime. Still, he had to explain to him a little more about the fact that he had left for good, and with a bit of insistence in prying, he revealed how he did not have any place to go to or even sleep.

   “Ah, Geeves… you should have told me about that before. Are you saying you didn’t even sleep yet? I understand your motives for going out and leaving, but couldn’t you have waited a little longer until we fixed up a place for you or something?” There was a sigh at the other end of the line, and then silence, where Gunvolt assumed that his friend was checking over stuff on his phone. “Look, I’ll go meet up with you right now. Go to the Hantu district, the entrance to the old shoe factory, and we’ll find each other there, alright? I have something I want to show you.”

   Not like he had many options. The most effective way to search for hirers was probably through his phone, so he would not be wasting any time. There were other places; the third floor of big lounge pubs were an unspoken meeting ground for Adepts, and recently, also Reploids who wanted to find like-minded people with a distaste for Sumeragi. If you wanted to find another one of your type, there was a password, only known by them. It was a good option for him to check out that night, but he still had a lot of time until then. It was Zeno who had taught him about it, even though he’d always worked for QUILL and never had any reason to go to such a place. Well, now he did. Yet, he should check out what the other wanted to show him first—he would also appreciate the company, especially in such rough spot. Might not talk much about it, as he was used to keeping feelings bottled in, but sometimes, emotions and thoughts simply slipped from his mind and moved his lips. At least his old comrade was someone he trusted.

   The Hantu district, huh? So Zeno wanted them to meet at the “ghost” district. As its nickname implied, it was a part of the city that was almost entirely abandoned, with old or vacated buildings, shops, establishments, houses and apartments alike. The general idea of the reason that the locale was abandoned for was because it was labeled a “quarantine” zone by Sumeragi, who claimed that purportedly there was a disease around the area, caused by mismanagement of lab waste materials. Of course, the general populace believed it, and everyone was either evacuated, forced to abandon their posts, or left of their own volition. Maybe that was what he would have believed, too, if he hadn’t grown up at QUILL. The resistance group had looked further into the case, and found out that the disease talk was actually a forgery by Sumeragi, unsurprisingly; at the time, they just had started installing Adept “research centres” in those parts, and did not want any meddling or witnesses by the district populace. By now, even those centres had been abandoned, and the area truly became an atypical ghost neighbourhood. To this day, people did not think of going there because the quarantine was never officially lifted, and rumours remained. The occasional homeless, curiosity photographers and bold teenage groups still came about every now and then, but that was about it. So why such a peculiar meeting spot? What did Zeno want to show him?

   As long as the restaurants were open 24 hours a day and had restrooms, he could hang out at any of them. It would raise less suspicion, if he switched every once in a while. So he left that particular eating place, going directly for the Hantu district—not the quickest way, which would be through the rooftops, since he could be easily recognized that way when there was no need for such; just walking the streets. Contemporaneity was diverse enough that his unique clothes didn’t catch anyone’s attention, so better for him. Even his braid, long enough that it grazed the ground behind him as he trekked, was not the main attraction in a big city. Cerberus didn’t need to be within sight; his holster did a decent job of hiding it, as well as his coat. Needed to have it on him at all times, that was for sure. It didn’t do much damage by itself usually, and he could use his powers on enemies just as well without it, but it made it much easier to connect electricity and keep a steady current into the foe. Who would have thought that thin “bullets” made out of a strand of his hair and coated in metal would be so effective in channeling his voltage?

   The day was nor too warm nor too cold; late morning, the sun was clearly present, just behind a veil of light grey clouds. Didn’t seem like it would rain, and later on, it was possible that it would be sunny. Gunvolt didn’t really enjoy both extremes; his clothes were not fit for hot weather, the sunrays were a glare to his eyes, and rain left him entirely soaked, sometimes to the point of him not being able to activate his Flashfield without getting shocked. Suffice to say, rain or bodies of water left him almost defenseless. He still could pack a strong kick, but the Flashfield was like a second skin to him by now, offered decent range and augmented several other physical abilities, like allowing him to run faster, jump higher, and even hover in a slow descent should he find himself falling from great heights. Of course, he was used to not tapping into his powers while holding a “normal” life at all, but in battle, it would be like not being able to breathe. His hands would be tied. If Sumeragi paid close attention to that weakness, and had a way of dousing him with water constantly during a fight, he would be done with. Hopefully they’d never find out.

   So this weather was nearly the best option. Didn’t bother him, in his whole walk to Hantu, occasionally checking over his phone for descriptions of each nearby installment. Once he was within the district itself, he noted the vehicle-less streets, lifeless sidewalks, dusty shop signs and overgrown house gardens. A picture of solitude, but not death, as a few stray animals still roamed around, showcasing that it was in fact safe to amble in these parts. At least, safe in a non-contaminated sort of way. He wouldn’t doubt that somewhere around here resided a gang of sorts, doing who-knows-what. Unless they were with Sumeragi, it really wasn’t his business. Checking over the GPS to make sure he was going the right way to the shoe factory, he would glance at the buildings and note their decay in comparison to the populated, well-managed areas. There were stains running down some, probably from the rain, and they looked like thick, permanent layers of solid dust. Not a lot of actual debris and collapsing around yet, except for the single houses with huge, dense gardens, where the plants had taken over, tore through the windows, the roof, and the walls. Nature had advanced in some streets, too, where the trees in the center had grown too much and had prominent roots breaking the concrete apart. Only hover vehicles could pass safely, and even then by raising themselves off the ground more. It clearly wasn’t a problem for young people like him to go through, though. Hundreds of leaves and seeds littered the roads in these particular spots. Evidently, Sumeragi no longer cared about the upkeep or even patrolling of this one district.

   There was nobody in front of the footwear factory. Huh, so Zeno hadn’t arrived yet—unsurprisingly, since the blond had left within five minutes of receiving the message. Not too much of a problem; he could just wait. Stealth missions always required much patience and standing by, so he was used to it. Taking a furtive, area-wide look around, he then leaned against the wall of the entrance, below the recognizable sign. Texting or calling his friend would simply be a sign of impatience, so all he could do now was look over his phone for more information on where to find freelance/mercenary work.

 

   Cloudy mornings were preferable to too sunny to Axl as well. Not that the early sun was as harmful as midday sun, but still it bothered him to an extent, as even though he had water systems that kept his temperature in check most of the time, Reploids were not as thermoregulating as mammals. Extreme temperatures could be really harmful to him. Standing beneath a strong midday sun in summer for hours would likely cause him to overheat; his mind would fog up considerably and he’d collapse, lethargic, and if not moved to a cooler locale, deactivation was a very real possibility. He hadn’t heard about it yet, but maybe Reploids could even be retired if deactivated in an extremely heated place for too long. It certainly wasn’t a death he looked forward to, not at all. His insides felt like they burned when close to overheating, a flame licking him within. Prolonged exposure to chilly weather normally did not affect him too much, but extremely low temperatures could provoke his joints to feel hard and stuck, the water inside him could freeze up, and eventually likely cause slower metabolism and deactivation as well. He was usually better off in the cold, though. Except that his body cooling down enough at times could induce a “cold” or “sickness” in him—his temperature would either be static in that gelid state for some time, causing him chills and malaise, or it would malfunction in a way that it would rise for a spell, akin to a “fever”. Being under the rain and with frosty winds caressing his form could easily cause this, not that differently from how humans became ill themselves.

   Heating up too much was by far worse, though, because he simply couldn’t think or move. So any sunny day where the heat could easily be felt left him uncomfortable, and staying indoors was preferable. Right now, however, it wasn’t too warm and the sun wasn’t even visible through the cloud curtain, so instead of sticking around the public resting room building, he had decided to go out and fish for newspapers. News and opinionated articles did not interest him, whether written or through the television or internet, clearly because Sumeragi had a hold of all the media and everything was prepared and filtered according to their own interests and skewered ideals. He’d never really watched anything, aside from after a few key missions where he was curious to find out the overall damage to the locale they’d infiltrated or razed through reporter coverage. That played a great part on him realizing how they were seen as terrorists by so many people. It hadn’t really shaken his resolve, though—he’d keep fighting against Sumeragi, no matter what it took, even if he was retired in the end, even if he would just be seen as a plight by almost everyone. Maybe someday, when this was all over, they’d understand what the battles were all about. They’d understand that, all this work, all this dedication, all the lives lost, were because the so called “rebels” fought for everyone’s freedom. It could take a century. It could take a couple. But he firmly believed that tyranny was something that was not eternal, and corrupt leaderships would always eventually fall. The names and faces could be forgotten along history’s course, but one day, if the children of humans, Adepts and Reploids could play together in peace, he would be glad to have died knowing he was part of it.

   Yet, he didn’t fetch a newspaper for news or articles. They were distributed for free in the Holorama Park, and a few other public locations, so he got one and proceeded to settle deep in the garden, away from the main plaza area with a cast stone fountain, stone benches, chess tables, and vendors. The part he was at was only grass, trees and flowers, and he sat comfortably underneath the shade of an aged-looking set of branches, feeling welcomed in this environment. Peaceful, stunning nature… that was quickly dwindling due to human neglect. The world population might not currently be as large as in the last century, but the damage had been done, and now, younger generations studied long and hard to try and save the planet in their own way. Red Alert had always supported the environmental research and preservation, but as much as Axl felt content with feeling the pulse of the earth underneath him, he didn’t think he could just stay inside a laboratory looking at plant and animal behaviour and statistics, carry devices to be put on volcanoes and fauna, and calculate sea level and acid rain percentage, among other stuff. His thing really was fighting, for better or worse, so there was no point insisting in something that wasn’t like him at all. The scientists could do their thing, and he’d support them, while he took care of freedom matters for the entire populace. There was no such thing as negotiating with Sumeragi—they had to take their rights by force.

   Rifling through the pages, what he was looking for came up on the very last section. Something that was not quite touched by the organization that settled fear in all of them; crafts, help, second-hand selling, and hiring advertisements. They were all written and posted by the common folk, for the common folk. Adoption fairs, searching for a new owner of a pet, selling handcrafted necklaces and ornaments, used vehicles on sale, fetch quests, pet and babysitters wanted, and, most importantly, mercenary hiring of any kind. Obviously there would be no mention of antagonism for Sumeragi in any of them, but the ads did not need to have these details. Some of them specified, such as “drive away this Maverick that has been causing havoc in the district”, “get rid of this plant mutation in the greenhouse”, among a few others that were allowed to be submitted, as they were not “subversive”. But the remaining ones were as simple as “I need a capable fighter for an important job, please contact me for further details”. All of the ads had phone numbers and/or e-mails attached, and though the Reploid did not have a phone, he still had a transmitter ingrained into his helmet. Normal phone calls were possible, just more annoying, as the device possessed no number buttons in it. It took a few years until Red taught him how that particular setting worked. E-mails were out of his possibility zone, however, unless he had access to a spy-protected Internet House. These usually worked undercover, since it was plainly in Sumeragi’s interest that they could track activity in all web devices. It was, more often than not, a paid service, so he couldn’t afford that now. He’d have to make do with what he had on himself.

   A single paperclip, however, could be given for free in stationeries, so he didn’t need to take the whole newspaper with him. It was a bit awkward, but… he attempted cleanly cutting around possible ads he could take on separately—with his beam saber. There were no scissors, so this was what he could do to try and organize the contracts. At least it wasn’t going horribly wrong or anything, and if he ripped an ad apart, he could just get a new periodical. Carrying small papers like this in a bundle would not be problematic at all. A bag of sorts could help, though.

   His expression was mildly focused, paying attention to the task of reading over information, analyzing their content and if he was capable of such works, and retrieving them from the magazine bulk. There were not as many mercenary missions as other ordinary notices, but still enough to keep him busy for days to a week; four out of six in this particular section were things he could do. The mutant plant mission had a money reward written down, but he guessed that with the others, the price would be discussed with the contractors once he called them. Not that he was picky with the amount by this point—he just needed any kind of money, and the pays should be reasonable. Later, when he had a small fortune to call his own, he’d be able to negotiate the compensations better, and if too many missions became available at the same time, he’d choose them based on payment (and how long or dangerous they would be).

   Making sure that there were no more assignments in the entire newspaper, he gathered the cut-out ads in a bundle, thinking of just putting the periodic to recycle now, since he didn’t need it anymore. And then there was a short _ting_ sound coming from his transmitter, which might not have startled him, as years of listening to it suddenly made him accustomed, but it did cause a gelid chill to run down his nerves. That was the tone which signified a transmission request—if he accepted it, a call would ensue. It wasn’t how the device always worked, but the settings that differentiated direct transmission and requested transmission were very subtle. After leaving Red Alert, he changed the configuration to only receive calls if he accepted them, for clear reasons. His gear possessed the same wavelength as always, so Red and a few others still knew how to reach him, transmission-wise. Suffice to say that he did not want to talk to his father figure, at least not yet, even if he did want to know, more than anything, ‘ _what happened?_ ’. His desertion should not be a surprise at this point; before leaving, he left a brief letter on his bed, making it evident that he did not want to be pursued or tracked down. ‘I’ll just do my own thing’, he’d written. ‘You’ve changed. Red Alert changed. This is not home to me anymore.’. He did not doubt that Red could actually want to come after him; after all, he had been his best warrior. But he also held the hope that the other would respect his wishes, and leave him be. Let him fly free until he was ready to confront him. If that fateful day ever came to be.

   Nobody else but Red Alert members were supposed to know his wavelength, so of course, he was expecting one of them to be the addresser. Maybe Red. His mentor was the only one who really cared, or at least, he used to. Soldier Stonekong respected him, but they weren’t really that close. Ride Boarski? There was no way a proper conversation could be held with that short-tempered, hot-headed Reploid. Splash Warfly was overconfident and narcissistic—the two of them had hated each other since the beginning. Tornado Tonion barely knew how to use a transmitter when it came to requested calls, though he felt proud of the younger Reploid, ditzy as he was. Probably missed him. Vanishing Gungaroo was jealous of him in an almost childish way, and probably could not care less about his whereabouts. Flame Hyenard… he used to have a bit of skill and character, but by the time Axl left, he had become even psychotic and thought about nothing but “tearing to pieces the enemies causing my pain”. Snipe Anteator was old, and tried to act like a mentor to all other members—except with some bits of jabbing and prying. He called him “little one” and “boy”, and was the second most likely to contact him after Red, as he had nothing against him, only curiosity. Probably would not want to lose him so easily when he hadn’t gotten “good data” on him yet. Wind Crowrang had always enjoyed sparring with him, finding him to be a fair fighter, and he often took interest in the power of other Reploids. Losing an honest adversary probably displeased him at least. Not an enemy, but also not too close to him.

   So indeed, Red and Anteator were likely options. Should he even accept this call? He didn’t want to talk to them—but then again, if he recognized their voices, he’d just drop the line. Seemed to be pretty simple. Couldn’t hurt to try, and as small as the possibility that it could be other people was, it was not 0%. In that case, he’d have to be even more careful. Swallowing thickly, placing his saber down and the bundle of ads between his legs so the breeze would not carry them away, he reached a hand up to the ear of his helmet and, with a moment of hesitation, accepted the call. “…Who is this?” His tone was even, if not a bit icy.

   There was silence at first, perhaps because he had taken a minute or two to answer after the beep, but then, an unfamiliar voice spoke from the other end. “So I may have correctly reached you, after all. You’re Axl, aren’t you? This is your wavelength?”

   Verdant eyes were stony as their gaze held the grass before him, though there was the slightest inkling of fear and distress in their depths. This definitely wasn’t his old mentor, or anyone else he knew. He’d heard their voices far too many times before, both in person and through the transmitter, to be able to mistake them at all by this point. If it had just been a stranger who caught on his wavelength by accident, he’d try and shrug it off, but the man actually knew his name. He’d probably found information on him somehow, and someone gave him his frequency. Maybe not even the computers at Red Alert had a hold of his “number”, so it couldn’t have been done through some form of hacking. Did that mean…

   “I’ll repeat myself; who are you, and how did you get a hold of this frequency?” His voice seemed to be holding daggers on the other’s neck by itself, which was far from his usual tone, but his past coworkers knew exactly how deadly and menacing he could be if he wanted to. As ditzy as members like Tornado Tonion were usually, their work had never been something to kid about. Danger hugged them on all sides, and they were wanted by Sumeragi, their missions almost always life-threatening; if they were caught, their survival would likely be attempted on the spot, or otherwise they’d be captured for information extraction through any means necessary. Torture was not the worst outcome of the second scenario, no—Axl was infinitely more worried about being turned into a Maverick somehow. Not only was it worse than being retired, since he’d be stripped of his sense of self but still “alive”, but that would also mean a very dangerous new asset for Sumeragi. His powers in their hands and out of his control, unbound by the healthy shackles of morality that he held onto so dearly, would mean death and destruction nearly untraced. If he was transformed, there would be no way others would be able to figure out who he was. The organization would use him to infiltrate anywhere, any time—his Maverick self would probably not even regard his own safety or hold fears. He would be a being of ruin, and no fate could be worse than that. It was the opposite of what he wanted to be for the world.

   “Ah, I don’t mean to put you on edge.” A frown formed on the Reploid’s features at the statement; as if he had no reason to, as if he wasn’t tense already, gripping the blades of grass between his legs with his free hand. “I believe we’ve…” A pause, “Never met before. But I got to know about Red Alert, maybe even a little “intimately”, if I could say that, and your name popped up a lot. I was curious about you. I can assure you, however, that I am not affiliated with Sumeragi in any way, if that is what you’re most concerned about. I have a contact inside Red Alert—”

   “If you support what they’re doing, forget it, I’m not going to listen to you.” The auburn-haired male bit, really not desiring to waste his time with anyone connected to his past home currently. Bantering with the other generals was a thing, since they’d known each other all his life and talking to them would not necessarily mean him doing anything for the organization, but getting involved with another sympathizer was something else entirely.

   The stranger at the other end seemed to be thinking over his next words carefully. He didn’t have that much time to ponder, though, considering Axl was not very willing to deal with someone who had started their interactions in such a maneuver—picking up his wavelength without his knowledge and contacting him from far away. It felt like an outset full of subtle manipulation already. “I can’t say I am fond of their current methods either, per se…” The other started, “But they had something that caught my attention. Something I took an interest in. Indeed, ever since they used more just approaches. I take it that it’s indeed true that you’ve deserted them, then?”

   The younger was going to huff, but all that came out was a strange sigh. “It should not be your business, but I gave myself away already, and I’m sure your “contact” must have let you know. I have indeed left Red Alert. I couldn’t keep fighting for a lie, and I don’t want my strings pulled. So I’m trying to do stuff on my own, now. I don’t want anyone to try and get me back, so don’t even venture that possibility.”

   “No, no, no, I’m not here to convince you to go back. I won’t even do as little as ask you to. Why give away the freedom you’ve just achieved in turn for an unhappy life? In fact, doing your own thing now should aid both our endeavours more so than otherwise. Doesn’t it feel… more liberating, this way? Having control of your own life?”

   “So you do want to use me for something.” The Reploid “tch’d” in a reproving tone, leaning his back against the tree. He tried to ignore the subsequent questions, because he really was not comfortable thinking about them so soon. Never had he had any problems about being a member of Red Alert before; it had just felt right, to serve an organization with then-pure goals. He didn’t feel like he was being manipulated, no, it had felt like home, akin to working in a family business with extended family, some he disliked, some he respected. It was doing many, many favours for his father figure, in turn for having been taken in and cared for and raised. He had been part of it all of his life, not because he was forced to, but because he _wanted_ to. Everything he did in that group was out of his own volition. No salary, no bargains, no manipulation, no begging, no threats. It had been his own will, to stay and fight and help and do his best. How could he answer about “freedom”, when he had always felt free back there? How was now any different from then? Just because he did not have any money himself, did not mean that he was not independent. Humans seemed to wrongfully interpret and assume that independence only meant legal and financial, being above the legal age for most things, having money to call your own, a job, and a house you owned. That was not true at all. The fact that Red Alert was the group who handled his repairs whenever he was wounded or crippled, or that the entire headquarters, including his room and his bed, were technically owned by them, did not mean that he was not self-sufficient and the owner of his own life. He’d never felt restrained, or like he _had_ to do anything for anybody. Maybe not even the word “contract” was right to explain his relationship with Red Alert; it was perhaps… a self-imposed duty. A place he could go to fight for what he believed in, to be himself. That was what freedom was really all about.

   But to this stranger, he merely swallowed thickly. This was not the proper place, or time, for any of this. And he did not need to justify anything to such a sneaky character.

   “I wished it were not like this… but as is, yes, I would like your help with some things. Don’t say “use”, though, that’s such a harsh word… I merely wish to employ your services. Is that not what you’re looking for right now? Freelance jobs?” The man inquired, and for some reason, he did actually sound a bit hurt that he’d utilized that expression.

   “Searching for mercenary contracts or not, I’m not just going to take a deal from someone I don’t even know that somehow managed to get a hold of my frequency.” Axl wanted to make that point clear. Some of the blades of grass had ripped under the strength of his fingers already, and when he realized it, he even felt a little bad. “You either tell me who you are and show your face, or I’m going to cut this transmission short, and subsequent ones as well. I’m no naïve, docile child. There is a reason I was Red Alert’s highest-ranking warrior.” Honestly, he never enjoyed bragging about his esteemed position within the organization’s body, not at all. It just felt like a necessity at times, when he had to instill fear into an enemy’s heart, or acquire the aid, support, or a bargain from a shallow human, that believed positions, ranks and money were the only worth about a person. It was disgusting, really, but a job like theirs required interacting with the rotten fruit every now and then. Hunting Mavericks, and hunting Sumeragi, made sure that they had a lot rubbish to hear, see, and deal with. The less he had to handle that now, especially without a home for the moment, the better. Thus why the dwindling patience ever since he’d heard his own name being spoken by an unfamiliar voice.

   An even, tired exhale sounded through the line after a bit, and the Reploid simply waited. It really would not make any difference for him, either way. If his proposal was not accepted, he’d just go on as if he’d never received this call at all. Otherwise… well, he did want to know how the other had gotten his hands on his “number”, and why he seemed to want his services, specifically. There surely must be other capable mercenaries out there, who were even more well-known than he. So why him?

   “Alright… I’ll do what you’re proposing me to. You’re not a child, for sure, you never…” There seemed to be an idle hand wave coming from the opposite end. “So you want to meet me in person to see if you can trust me? Guess I have no way around it. I wished it was not so soon, but, anyway. As you said, it would be foolish of you to just accept my tasks without knowledge of my identity. I’m just a stranger calling you out of nowhere, after all. So be it. Rendezvous with me across the playground in Hantu district in one hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter was quite... weak, I guess. It was with the middle part to the ending that I had the most problem with, so I reckon that it's understandable, but I do wish that it was better. It took me like... more than two weeks? It's ridiculous how bad I've gotten. Where is the writing competence I had when I wrote 50k words of THE in June-July?
> 
> What were at first simple desires I wanted to roleplay with a Gunvolt as my Axl muse, became an entirely developed AU crossover. Developing the AU was really tough, the lore, what would happen in the fic; which elements of Mega Man X would I bring to the AU, and which elements of ASG would I bring in as well? What could drive the plot forward? It took me several hours to decide upon the very base, build up something that was believable and accurate of both universes alone, as well as them brought together. Obviously, I had to create some elements myself, and I do need this creative liberty, but taking lore from both game series will be what I will try to do. I will have to recur to planning some original things every now and then, though.
> 
> This is the single dorkiest fic title ever. (I did think a lot about it and it does have some meaning, though.)


	2. Growing Unease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gunvolt discovers useful information while waiting for Zeno, and when his partner does arrive, they converse about many subjects -- with a focus on Asimov's latest behaviour. Walking towards the older's intended destination, they partake in a peculiar stroll of peace and unease.

   As surprisingly easy as it was to find most products and jobs in the Web nowadays, the same could not be said of mercenary missions. The reason why was obvious, though, considering how at least a quarter to a half of these tasks were considered some level of questionable, illegal, or subversive. Killing off rivals, or anyone of the contractor’s interest, was clearly a matter of arrest. Possessing private armies was not necessarily legal. And, naturally, anything that could cause harm to Sumeragi, either morally, financially or physically, was out of question. Regardless of publicly declaring someone as an enemy or keeping it to themselves, they would find a way to hunt the “perpetrator” down. Only a select number of Adepts and Reploids were actually physically capable of defending themselves when it came to being wanted by the powerful organization, but a few cunning humans could escape using their wits where magical powers and strength failed them. Gunvolt’s personal guess and past experiences he’s had with mercenary contractors told him that, it was possible that people who sought warriors to do private work for them were numbered equally between typical humans, Reploids, and Adepts. If he expected any fluctuation to come from these numbers, he would risk inferring that the majority would be, in fact, ordinary humans. Usually without any capability or proper armour and weaponry to be able to hold out against even Sumeragi’s enhanced foot soldiers, they were the ones who required able sword hands the most. These hired “swords” were generally Adepts and Reploids, though humans lacking in Septimal powers but with highly technological weapons and equipment were not unheard of. He hadn’t met any of them personally in his missions yet—however, he suspected that the head of Sumeragi could be one of such exceptional people. If not, that would mean they were an absolute weakling in power, or, even worse, someone who desired to cause suffering to their own kind—if they happened to be a Reploid or Adept themselves. Not that they, the suppressed groups, should even be seen as much different from humans at all, but the thought that that fiend could end up not being unlike them in any aspect whatsoever made his skin crawl all the more. It could have been that same person, being experimented on or enslaved. Didn’t that thought terrify them? If they were really not an average human, could they have forgotten who they really were?

   Tch, no point in stressing over it. Even if Sumeragi didn’t exist, he doubted that mercenary contracts would be any easier to find in the Internet. Maybe the people involved just had to be a little more careful, considering the group’s technological prowess. Still, there _were_ ways—and that was why he hadn’t ever thought seriously about throwing away the phone given to him by QUILL yet. As much as he did not want to involve himself in anything dealing with them for a while, this device had a lot of tools and settings which allowed him to do much more than any simple cellphone could. It prevented any tracking from outside sources whatsoever, other radars and GPSs could not acknowledge it (of course, his own GPS was able to gather the signals of nearly everything else regardless), it was practically unhackable, and imbued with configurations and special programs which granted him access to a myriad of useful site sections and otherwise secret keys from the Web and general technological world. They clearly could not access all of Sumeragi’s classified database this way, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other, quite convenient places they could go to. Because of how obvious it would be for an entire non-company site to be blocked to the general populace, such URLs did not exist (as far as he knew), yet, the way some groups and businesses found to have undercover activity in the Internet was this: possess an otherwise completely normal site to most onlookers, with the majority of the contents being accessible to everyone, yet have some sections or options in it which only people who knew what they were looking for could even see in the first place. Namely, people like QUILL with specialized programmers who could install the necessary tools to access them at all. Which meant, this was how he could find proper mercenary work in the Web, or at least pointers to where else he could look for them. Asimov had showed him a few of those sites, and there was one in particular he was checking over right now.

   There were the site’s normal forums—which he had no idea of the general subjects entailed, since he never even checked them—and then, an option for a separate forum that only showed up in devices with the right settings installed. Different sites had different goals and means of utilizing them, but this one still had many options, with mercenaries advertising themselves (there was at least one member of QUILL tasked with looking for sword hands in these sites), contractors posting their deals, and many other topics of either useful or useless nature, as every community was ont to have. Going straight for the contractors was an option, but a certain topic also caught his attention. ‘Is there anywhere else in Kulun besides the lounge pubs where we can find hunters or contracts?’

   Considering virtual contracts were not always optimal, this would be favourable to know. Another glance to his surroundings told him that nobody had arrived yet besides an old dog scratching itself across the street, so he just went on to read over the topic regardless. He was met with various different answers, such as a list with all of the city’s lounge pubs and their locations, a few police offices which accepted mercenary help in some operations, and even the names of brothels with courtesans who offered their services as part of a contractor’s scheme. What made him raise an eyebrow in curious interest, though, were a few particular replies informing the same thing: ‘There is an establishment solely focused on gathering and administrating mercenary contracts and employer ads in a closed-off underground area of Hantu district. There is probably more than one entrance to the tunnels, but the best known one is the subway station.’

   That was a fresh piece of information he hadn’t been privy to before. Not that it’d mattered until now, considering he’d never needed freelance jobs. But this was quite useful for his new lifestyle, he reckoned. Something he’d have to start getting used to; picking his own missions to earn his own money and thus sustain himself. Could this underground establishment be what Zeno wanted to show him…? One would expect his friend to be someone easy to read, due to his personality, but in reality, he was not. The older male managed to be one of the most mysterious people he knew, despite how he was closer to him than most anyone else in and outside of QUILL. Playful, mostly cheerful, fond of teasing his comrades, he nonetheless took his missions very seriously, and was easily among the organization’s most competent members. He was a very skillful warrior, and an efficient navigator—also an information fountain, surprisingly. It probably comes with being a geek. Collecting old pieces of technology seemed to be a hobby of his. Regardless, even though he knew all these details  about him, that didn’t mean he was simple to read. The blond himself had quite a hard time trying to ascertain his motives sometimes. And this instance was no different; he really didn’t know just what Zeno wanted to show him. Of course, he assumed that it had something to do with him, the fact he’d deserted, the fact he was worried about him, but aside from that, he did not have the slightest clue.

   “Geeves…” The familiar voice sounded close to him sudden enough that it nearly startled him; turning immediately Zeno’s way, he was met with a concerned expression and gaze analyzing his form. Gunvolt was not easily distracted, and his senses were enhanced when compared to normal humans, but some Adepts simply had a way of being as inconspicuous and silent as possible when moving around. He was able to do that, and so was his companion. That being said, he _was_ able to notice the other every now and then, but it was not consistent, and right now, his stress and lack of sleep were probably muting his sensory perceptions further.

   As he was being examined, he gave the two-tone-haired male an once-over as well; nothing had really changed in him, but that was expected, considering the last he’d seen of him was two days ago in the least. However… the way his golden eyes mellowed with worry made it clear that the same could not be said of him.

   “You look… kind of dead.” Zeno sighed out an exhale, placing his hands on his hips. “Honestly, couldn’t you just have waited a day or two? It pains me to see you like this…”

   The blond could have been worse, frankly. Sleepless for three days, ill, wounded. Regardless, it was not quite a healthy sight; his skin was paler than usual, indents under his eyes, tired features, an even more visible lack of shine in his irises. Not exactly like the life had been syphoned off of him entirely, but at least it had received a considerable blow. It was not only because of being awake for over twenty four hours, or having to rebuild his life so extremely; the betrayal he felt towards QUILL’s recent activities and methods stressed him quite deeply. The result of all these elements joined together was this, this half-filled husk that stood in front of his old friend right now. “And be present as all the drama from my resignation started up?” He wanted to huff, but it really wasn’t fair to sound bitter to someone who was trying to help him even now.

   “Did I make any drama?” The older inquired, just to drive the point home that, in fact, not everyone at the group was freaking out over his departure. When azure eyes avoided his own for a second, as the other was reminded of how supportive the Italian really was, he reached forward to place a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine to want to lead your own life, you know. None of us are expecting to just age and grow old in QUILL. It just happens that you chose to go now, that’s all. But still, as the fussing big brother I am, I’ll keep insisting that you should have waited for us to help first.” There was a little grin on his lips now, not the usual bright one he was known to give, but it still reassured Gunvolt in a way to see it.

   An older brother—it was hard for the two-tone-haired male to not see himself that way. When both of them joined QUILL more formally, he couldn’t help feeling like caring for the grown blond child he’d met. The Azure Striker, by that time devoid of his title, might have been the youngest in the group back then—and he still was a bit young, except there were a few ten-to-fourteen-year-olds around now doing programming and hacker work. He’d seen Asimov caring for him, but he wasn’t quite the most cuddly or playful father he’d ever seen, so the brotherly instinct in him had just grown further at the realization that that boy was mostly alone, no siblings or close friends and his father figure being, well… Asimov. Just Asimov. So approaching him had been both a conscious choice and as if something had pulled him to do it, a compelment he could not describe. Maybe the instinctive need to protect others, especially ones younger or seemingly frailer than himself. Needless to say, younger Gunvolt was even shyer than he currently was, and much more resistant to interacting with strangers. It took a considerable number of attempts to get them to even become a little more than acquaintances, and Zeno felt lucky, because being coworkers gave the other an actual logical reason to become acquainted with him. If they had been complete and total strangers, unrelated even by job, he doubted that he’d have been able to get the younger’s attention at all at that age.

   He’d given him siblingly care and friendly support, and he was sure that, even though it was already a bit late into the other’s life, it had helped him grow up healthier. It was a great relief, really, that his friend now was able to smile and have a sense of humour and a wide array of emotions sometimes. He could hold a reasonable conversation with strangers, and was several times smarter and more mature than normal people his age. He’d been afraid that the other would have just grown more awkward and apathetic with time, focused solely on his missions at QUILL and avoiding everyone, barely able to take pleasure out of anything. After all, he did have reasons to worry; the fact he’d lived many years in a Sumeragi laboratory as a test subject, his Septima purportedly draining some of his emotional energy, and even after being rescued there was a lot of focus on fighting and duty, with Asimov being kind of detached, himself. Going to school might be an excuse of normalcy, but it was not a guarantee he’d get any sort of social experience and growth out of it. School was mostly a forced thing, really, lumping you together with a bunch of superficial youngsters who were not there by shared interests, but because they were obligated to. It almost never ended up well for the ones who were different, like Gunvolt. Unsurprisingly, the blond had found no friends among his classmates, and rarely ever talked about his school experience at all, unless he had complaints bottled up and needed to rant about them.

   But here he was now, an _almost_ normal person, if one didn’t count the unhealthy, idiotic society “norms”. As long as he was physically and psychologically okay, or mostly okay, that was what really mattered. Not quite there yet on the emotional department, but he was notably much better than he’d expected him to be, considering his past and lifestyle. It was enough, satisfying for now, and there was only room for improvement. And knowing he nurtured him and helped him grow like that, it was the best reward Zeno could ever have gotten from having joined QUILL. Amusing, because he was only sixteen, kind of young to be a parent, yet he could arguably already cross ‘raise someone’ off his lifetime goals list. He could keep helping him, teaching him, but even if they parted ways now for any reason and never saw each other again, he’d feel accomplished and without regrets. Gunvolt was a grown man, and could very well carry on on his own. Though continuable, his job was essentially done, yet it didn’t mean that he wanted to leave him alone. The other was not the only one getting something out of this friendship. He was maturing, too, and man, did he enjoy being by his side and working together and just talking to him or anything simple like that, honestly.

   It was rather gratifying, really, to see with his own eyes, hear with his own ears, and feel with his own senses, how much the Azure Striker was nearly fully developed by now. And to know that, back when they first met, he’d still had that boyish, higher-pitched voice… Currently, the blond’s tone was deeper than his own, azure eyes holding a much sharper glint of experience and maturity, and even at 160 cm of height, there was nothing “childish” about his body anymore. There was strength and agility in him, quick wit and ability to reroute plans on the spot; he was fully merged with his Septima, which was much like a second skin to him, and he could handle himself decently in necessary social interactions. And he was not kidding about there being no vestiges of boyhood in his physique anymore. Gunvolt was, simply put, breathtakingly beautiful. Everything from his form to his gem-like eyes to his soft, luscious golden locks (that he would sometimes tease him about being a “bad haircut”, but by now it was a mostly empty nudge considering it was obvious to everyone, even him, that he was enamored with it), dark eyelashes, determined posture, well-fitted clothes—just, he was really beautiful, and he was hot. “Electrifying”, if he’d like to accurately describe him utilizing a pun. It didn’t help that it was true, that every time he touched him, he could feel a little spark on his skin, sometimes the static even appearing visibly across his body and the air around him, regardless of the Flashfield being activated or not. His body was lithe, but not frail, or at least, no more frail than a usual human or magic-focused Adept. His legs were _fine_ , boots simply emphasizing the nice little curves, and he wanted to stroke his thighs someday, truthfully. The garment choice was not only elegant and befitting him, but he found it kind of charming how it revealed his abdomen, despite quite literally covering everything else except fingers and head. It was just way too inviting, in more ways than one; it could be begging to be tickled, but he wasn’t going to test his luck on that. Not that his partner would end up killing him with an electrical discharge if he did it, but it still could be to a painful extent. Ah, yet that was not to say he’d left the little exposed tummy completely alone, either. The other might find tickling quite unpleasant—however, in one of their longer missions together, where they had to sleep out in the field, at the moment they’d woke up, he’d taken advantage of a sleepier Azure Striker by crawling halfway over him as he was lying down, and delivering a lingering kiss on the bare skin.

   Daring, perhaps—he’d even heard a tiny noise of static nearby, probably the blond getting ready to shock him if he showed any signs of starting to blow a raspberry on him, but it never came. It was just as it had started; a kiss, a chaste pressing of lips onto his abdomen. There was a little shiver, a little twitch under his mouth, and that had been very satisfying to feel. Honestly, he could have stayed like that all day, but alas, the nicest things could not last. Eventually he had to pull away—yes, he moved away himself, Gunvolt didn’t push him off—, and while there was satisfaction written all over him, his friend was both confused and bashful, besides still a bit sleepy from just waking up. The latter probably hadn’t been able to tell if that had been a friendly, or even bordering on romantic gesture, but it certainly had been intimate. And intimacy like that was one of the few things that flustered him. It had felt so nice, really. Even if Zeno had been focusing on the exposed abdomen, there was also no denying that he’d been so stupidly close to the younger’s own intimacy. Which was, much like most of his body, fully developed. Not bigger than his own, yet it was definitely average at least, for an adult. Maybe even a little larger. It fit quite nicely between his legs, sincerely. He wished he could have taken a better, closer look; all he’d been able to get were glances, some fleeting, some lingering, when they spent time together and he was somehow around due to various circumstances to see him wash or finish washing, or when the blond really had to go and they could not get separated enough for the privacy he desired. Regardless, it was _adorable_. It looked so soft and squishy and milky, not too big or small, with a cute head and it looked so warm when mildly flushed, and he just wanted to cradle it in his hands and hold it and caress it and squish it and take it in his mouth—

   Deep. Breaths. The Italian allowed his eyes to slip shut briefly, then opened them again. It was a good thing that he could be difficult to read most times—it meant that Gunvolt probably would not have the slightest idea about what kind of thoughts had been crossing his mind just now. Well, better for him, because it’d be awkward to explain, or at least, really embarrassing. For some reason, he could be quite unabashed when it came to sexuality at times, but in some particular instances, he’d feel shy or bashful and even blush. Not many remarks, or people, could elicit that sort of reaction from him, so these moments were kind of unique. Either if something sounded very romantic, or was particularly intimate, he could end up flustered to various degrees. Both of them were hard to make blush usually, huh? “Anyway, we will talk on the way.” He gave the other a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before drawing his hand away, then running it through his darker hair in a fleeting motion. “You won’t get any more rest with us just standing around here, so let’s get going.”

   The skies were still veiled in clouds, but perhaps it was already midday. Better this way, than having the sun visible at its highest point, raining down heat on them. They trod casually along the fissured pavement, leaves and seeds, as if they simply were not taking a stroll through a ghost district, as if nothing had happened at all. Seemingly, that was proof of how strong their bond was; this turn of events hadn’t created a dent in their relationship, and both hoped it would stay that way. Even if they would see each other less often, that did not mean they’d grow further apart where it really mattered. The blond just wished that there would be no chipped parts or friction from here on out—if Zeno stood up for what QUILL was currently doing, he didn’t think he would be able to treat him exactly the same way, though he’d probably be unable to see him any less fondly, after all this time, after getting to know his friend’s true person. This was something he wanted to know, wanted to understand; what were the other coworkers thinking, what was really going on? Why was he kept in the dark about it? Why didn’t Asimov say anything, and why was he acting a little bit more imprudently every day?

   “So… you did notice how things have changed, too.” The two-tone-haired male settled over the silence, fiddling with the outside of his pockets, and then looked at his partner for a second. “I knew you would; you have a keen eye for details like that. Well, not that it would be details for us as much as glaringly obvious, but I assume most of the others are at least half oblivious to it. They’re in great part relatively new to QUILL, or are not close to Asimov at all to understand how he usually is, or is supposed to be.”

   “Tch… “how he usually is”, that might be something, now…” Though the younger’s voice held some kind of disdain, anxious disdain, it was not for the other’s words, but for the thoughts of his father figure, the thoughts that had been reeling in his mind and eating away at him ever since he saw the civilian murdered before him. “We might know who he is to us. He cares for us, he does things for us, he sees our missions through. Somewhat awkward with emotions as he is, we can tell that there is _something_ there when he speaks to us. He was the one who saved me from hell. As much as I cannot thank him enough, though…” Azure eyes were fixated on the horizon for some time, either the ends of the streets they went through, the skyline above the houses, or the faraway buildings. However, now he closed them briefly to shake his head, braid swishing about. “After this dubious aura has descended upon our group, after seeing coworkers do things I never thought they would and Asimov command them, issue orders like that, I wonder now, more than I ever have; do we truly know our leader?” He turned his head to look at the older in the eyes, even if for a moment; he hadn’t completely assimilated and matured the idea yet, so he wasn’t assured that this was something he should question so openly, but he’d thought deeply and seriously enough about it until now that he had to convey its importance to Zeno through eye contact, relatively fleeting as it had been.

   The Italian had always dreaded that times like this could come, that someday, the dreams he’d pursued when he left his home country, the happy (even though a bit dysfunctional) family he’d helped build here, forged through a share of interests and ideals that ended up growing beyond that, the trust and hope he’d placed in his officer and his organization… they would start blurring, becoming less graspable. Where he’d hoped things would stay solid for a long time, or at least until their mutual objective was reached, as the days passed, it seemed like that was no longer possible. He couldn’t keep placing his faith in a man that was even driving their ideals _away_ like that, recently—not the main one, which was defeating Sumeragi and providing a better future for Adepts, but almost everything else. Including slaying civilian humans and Reploids, with no good reason enough—not _nearly_ excusable enough—to even harm them. And Asimov knew perfectly well how blatantly his three favourite workers—him, Gunvolt and Moniqa—were against that kind of thing. The younger members wanted all of them (the three kinds) to be equal always, and that was no way about doing anything like it. The American did mention his focus, the main focus of QUILL, upon them joining, but still, nothing they’d ever done until now had actively injured innocents. They had always helped humans and Reploids alike, as well, and the goal of destroying Sumeragi would also aid them just as much.

   It seemed like one could never be too idealistic when it came to joining any type of organization, especially when it worked around a little less physical concepts, and some principles. Knowing the leaders in a deep, personal level, certainly made things more predictable and problems easier to solve, but this wasn’t quite the case. And when you didn’t know someone who held a position of power enough, there was no telling what to expect in the short or long run. Power can go to people’s heads. And with institutions like theirs, that were not “registered trademarks”… It was all the easier for the rein-holders to mold them as they saw fit. Zeno breathed in semi-raggedly, holding the azure gaze for as long as the direct eye contact lasted. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who genuinely knows Asimov. He talks as if he’s barely had anyone before us, and as much as we’ve tried, he doesn’t seem like he wants to completely open up. And the way his personality is, it even feels like he doesn’t _know_ how to reveal most of himself. Yet, the way he’s acting now, not even trying to explain himself a lot or give us satisfaction—hard to say it’s only because he’s emotionally awkward.”

   “That’s because it isn’t.” Gunvolt affirmed with firmer conviction, upon seeing that his partner had figured out and sensed the changes just as much as he—even the more subtle ones. This section of the district they’d seamlessly entered and had been walking in for the past minutes, seemed to be a purely residential neighbourhood, mostly composed of houses. No commercial establishments yet, which was a visible contrast from the area where they’d met up earlier, if one paid due attention. More abodes with overgrown gardens could be seen here than before. The scent of bark, green, moss and flowers wafted from them, settling the streets in-between and the overall area in a pleasant aura of peace and naturality, hardly expected of a locale within a city. The lack of humans made such a huge difference… it was as if they somehow possessed a deathly touch, as much as ones like him did their very best to not hinder nature in any way. With contemporaneity, it was apparent that no city person would ever be able to live away from the polluting luxuries, so he wondered if the only way they would not end up draining the world shortly, was to move all urban dwellers to the fields and farms. He couldn’t do anything about that right now, though. “I just know there is something in his mind that he’s not telling us, and it’s not because he doesn’t think it’s important, either.” With a suave inhale, he found that, for a place that likely reminded other people of death and disease, this was actually the best location to relax and try to sort out uneasy thoughts. The fruity and flowery aroma was not unlike a calming, burning incense. “If he really has changed for the worse, I believe all of us would hope that it’s something recent, but… we can’t cross out the possibility that this might have been him all along.”

   With a long, indrawn breath, as if it could rest his soul easier, the two-tone-haired male shook his head softly and returned the air almost as slowly, sending a sympathetic and mildly melancholic look over to his companion. He reached over to graze a finger over the surface of one of the blond spikes, but after ending at the tip, it was as if he held himself from going any further, and instead fetched his phone (it wasn’t technically a “phone”, like the smartphones from the past century he collected, having many more features to them and not necessarily being linked to any telephone companies, but the popular and informal name stuck to these devices due to the popularity of past models). “The fact that I have no way of contesting that statement might be the saddest realization yet.” He lamented, double checking the status of a particular location in his phone, but still paying attention to the other most of the time, who seemed slightly curious as of why he didn’t quite go through with the caress or petting. “One thing we can be assured of, though, and that is his desire to protect Adepts.” There was honesty in his golden eyes. “It’s something he cannot feign, and as much as he can be quite cold and stony when it comes to making sure our missions don’t fail, we all can see how he does want to build a better world for our kind. That’s the main purpose of QUILL. That’s the primary reason we approached and joined the group, ourselves—I mean, most of us, as you in particular grew up with Asimov, so you always knew about it.” He added. “And… that’s why we all held on for so long. I knew his concern for Adepts was genuine, so I trusted that his intentions would be benign. Yet it seems to come to light now, that perhaps he does not care for the other two kinds as much…” An exhale of uneasy breath, “I hope this won’t mean anything deeper, darker than it is now. Mayhap he’s simply becoming reckless. Thinking the ends justifies the means. Nothing justifies ending the lives of civilians, but… it could be worse. It can be worse. Because the “end” that he’s trying to achieve…”

   “Zeno.” The younger uttered his name, drawing his friend’s attention to his next words. “You are aware of what is going on, you know this is not right. Yet you’re still there, aren’t you?” Azure eyes turned nearly pleading, yet only those really accustomed to its depths could tell the emotion was even there. “Why don’t you leave? I would hate to see your strings just being pulled like that… you working towards something you do not want. Under someone we’re unsure we can trust.” He reached out without much hesitation, wrapping his upper arm around the other’s, then holding it with his hand. It was not like imprisoning him, also not quite like holding hands, but still a gesture of closure, that the Italian was sure he did with no one else. “I don’t want… I don’t want you getting hurt. As you’ve always known, this is no petty competition within a company’s body between boss and employee. This concerns groups of Adepts experienced in combat, this concerns Sumeragi. Not that we won’t be fighting the latter after all, because we’ll do it regardless of where we are, but the risks are just too high for something we can no longer be reassured of. If… if any of them get a hold of you…” He looked down at the languid, coloured leaves creaking under their boots, some brushing past them in a shallow height, as if the mild breeze was in reality water weaving upon the shores of a lake, carrying a third of the fallen foliage in tranquil waves along the ground. The grip he had on his companion tightened somewhat, and Zeno felt his heart flutter, golden orbs minimally widening at the sensation of a small streak of electricity buzzing within the held spot, then coursing throughout his arm and down his spine simultaneously, provoking pleasant chills. “It might as well be Asimov’s fault.”

   Maybe Gunvolt hadn’t realized it quite to this extent before, but the thought of a crippled or lifeless Zeno terrified him immensely. It came with their work, it was a conceivable possibility which always rested in the back (or front, depending on the missions) of their minds, yet, however they all cared for each other, each one of them knew that being there was a decision crafted of free will, of their own volition. If they perished in action, it still would have been while doing something they wanted to do, for a hope of a better future that they believed in. On the other hand, now… this wouldn’t be the case. Without assurance that their leader would always do what was best for them, and for the world, anymore, it nauseated him all the more to think of his best friend passing away under such conditions. He would be murdered, in the most fatal and unforgiving way the word possibly embodied. And the blond just could not allow that—or at least, he’d try his best to convince the other of offering his life to a sure cause. The emotions he felt… in his younger years, he’d believed himself no longer capable of becoming attached to anyone. That his heart could not feel that way anymore, that his past had left a scar on his soul, unhealable and bound by his Septima. Yet, Zeno’s kindness towards him, his insistence on interaction in the dawn of their relationship, the pure emotions of a caring heart that sought friendship… they had all reverberated within his anima, awakening it, melting the frozen parts, healing the wound until it was nothing but a mark, still holding dark memories and unconscious fear, but he had been lovingly nurtured to the point that he could truly live again. He was someone now, his own person. And, even still being a little socially awkward, needing time before he was comfortable with being affectionate with others, he was able to feel. He could form bonds and links with others. He worried for them, he felt attached to them.

   And this was why he felt so unsettled, so concerned that the other could be unjustly risking his life. He was his best friend—even more than that, actually, as the word was often just thrown around by petty people with their shallower companionships. It was something more, that he could not describe with an expression as simple as “best friend”. The average person’s “best friend” would never die in their stead. They just shared interests, conversed, hung out together, gave each other gifts, but that was about it, most of the time. Zeno was someone he’d not even think about taking a bullet for—he’d just do it. Wherever they were, he felt concerned for his safety, though it clearly was not as bad as worrying for someone defenseless, as he trusted quite a lot in his ally’s wit and combat skills. Still, the fact he thought about it, that he could even feel anxious or sick over it…it was proof of how he truly owned a heart, and that he and Zeno were as close as beings could get. Not one to dabble on romance too much, he didn’t really mind what came of it. There was no need for traditional courting to love one as much as it was possible. And to lose someone like that, who was connected so profoundly to his soul, was worse than one’s own death.

   With a sigh that sounded a little small and breathless, yet he was sure it reverberated in his entire being, the two-tone-haired male put his device away, now reassured that he wouldn’t need to check it again to know exactly where the place was. Still, it might be hard for Gunvolt not to be able to feel how uneven his heart was currently beating. Not frantically, yet still a quicker pace which reflected how warmly he felt at hearing his partner’s kind words, at the clear care he felt for him. The blond didn’t want him to be endangered without necessity, to stay in a place that might eventually come to plan his demise. There was so much fear in his voice, even if nearly unnoticeable to strangers. The gentle, yet firm hold he had on him. It was the kind of love he’d always yearned for, especially from him. An affection he hadn’t felt from anyone else besides his brother back home. Heh, so now he could surely tell his mother about how it was not only blood family you could adore, that it wasn’t only they who would cross the entire world for you… Which sounded quite hypocritical of her, honestly.

   And what the younger would do for him, the Italian would do as well, for the most important person in his life. With the hand of the same arm that was being held, he raised it to place it over the other’s own, pressing a little in a small squeeze-caress. Mild buzzing overtook his fingers, but only for a few moments, as the immediate contact with his friend’s Septima dissipated. A peculiar form of handholding, one that certainly regulars would be bothered with the sight of, merely because it was unusual. Not like it troubled them at all. Whatever nice that came from their interactions was very welcome. “If leaving was as easy as it sounded, in the overall picture…” With the blond’s eyes having returned to him as he felt his hand held, he took the opportunity to allow his own golden gaze to convey what his words could confuse. “You can see for yourself how abruptly departing like that ends up; scrambling for even somewhere to live at first, not to mention how to sustain oneself after the emergency supplies are depleted. Yet—that’s honestly my last worry about deserting.” He was careful about turning into the right streets, and there was no sight of humanoid life yet, but the animals seemed a bit surprised with their presence. None dared get too close, though. Were they just unaccustomed, or could they sense their Septima, and were afraid? Regardless, they weren’t too far now. “As we’ve both pointed out, Asimov is behaving strangely, but we have no actual evidence of his true, detailed, final intentions. To dethrone Sumeragi and thus aid Adepts in attaining true freedom and equality? Yes, that is a goal we can be sure of. But at what cost? Utilizing what other means we haven’t been part of yet?” Slightly uneasy, he lightly bit the tip of his tongue within his mouth. “If both you and me leave QUILL, then who will take it upon themselves to figure out what he really wants? Who will stealthily observe him as he gives out orders? I do not think any of our members are ready for it yet, Gunvolt.” He breathed.

   “But your safety—” The Azure Striker started out of instinctual concern, and then halted, breaking eye contact in moderate distress. As much as his heart nearly burst in protest at the thought that his friend would stay, without a reason that seemed fair enough, he knew how they didn’t have much of a choice. Left unsupervised, who knows what his father figure would do? There was no one else within the organization’s body that was able to stop him, nor with force, nor have enough will to truly stand up against him. With most of them remaining oblivious, something huge and threatening could brew, as patiently as it had to be done. As there would be no one overseeing him, he could simply take his time. It was much too risky for them both to desert as things were.

   “I know, I know.” Zeno felt remorseful, squeezing the hand in his own a little further, and he wanted to do so much more, set him down lying across his lap and massage his scalp until he slowly and peacefully drifted off to sleep. Just seeing his coworker made him feel like protecting and caring for him—even pampering, if he’d let him. Especially when he looked this tired, this cornered. But, doing anything on the streets like that was counterintuitive, and not at all worthwhile. They’d arrive soon, however. “And Moniqa… we can’t leave her alone like that. It’s as clear as daylight, how she has quite the crush on the boss. Dense as he is when it comes to these kinds of things, he might not have noticed it yet, but as soon as he does, he may want to take advantage of her affections to manipulate her. Not even I would have thought he’d be capable of such a thing until a few days back… yet, after those thoughtless orders, I don’t doubt anything anymore. He cares for her, and for us all—be that as it may, we have no proof he’s not the kind of person who would place his goals before us. Exploits and murder—” His exhale came out sharp, as if something had suddenly physically constricted his ribcage. With his free hand, he took to lightly rubbing under his hairline, the coppery fringe tickling the back of his hand. “G…Gunvolt. Am I becoming too paranoid?” He worried, and did not desire to seem as anxious about all this as he truly was, but it was hard to not let his eyes widen just a little bit in terror. “Nothing profoundly terrible has really happened yet, and still…”

   “You’re fine.” The blond answered softly, reaching up to gently thread fingerless-gloved digits through the other’s volcanic hair with his own free hand. It was tough for him, too, seeing how uneasy his partner had also become. How much these recent turn of events had affected them all. “You just have such a tremendous noble and generous heart… You worry about all of us to the very end. Even before things really start becoming grave, and that’s a good indication of who you truly are. Yet, there is no need to fret yourself sick, alright?” He then drew his hand away, sighing more due to a little breathlessness than anything else. “I’m merely… I’m too tired to ponder over all that now. We’ll still have time. And you probably need to take a rest from it, too.” Indeed, the stress and lack of sleep made the younger Adept not be able to think too deeply about anything by now, or at least, not without some pain. To insist on figuring everything out currently would solely bring about more exhaustion and headaches. He would have leaned on Zeno, were they stationary, since, what do you know, leaning onto someone while both of you were walking at a normal pace was not that simple (or comfortable).

   Golden eyes mellowed out some upon hearing the other’s assurance, and he acknowledged one of his remarks; he recognized that, sometimes, concern would gripe him in such a way or for such a long time that he’d become ill or exhausted, or even if it was not as intense, it could still be mostly unnecessary. Fretting over some aspects or dangers in a friend’s missions, or plans that possibly entailed a large number of casualties, especially if civilian. Some of them, he was unable to have any control over, so why strain so much? Why age faster when there was no necessity for exaggerated self-pressure? Honestly, he had to work on that. He didn’t want his companion to worry about him even further because of it. “You’re right… I think we need a small break. You—you need a full break, though, have to make up for all these hours you’ve been awake.” The indents under azure eyes looked even painful, if possible at this point. He felt so bad, really. Instinctively, he reached out with the hand that had been stroking his hairline to tenderly caress the pale cheek closest to him, in an affectionate, sympathetic, and apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you left… we’re close, okay? Just a little more.”

   There was a small, deep hum of appreciation from Gunvolt at the soft touch, and he leaned into it, tired eyes closing for a moment as he reveled in the care. Zeno was being as gentle as he could, even massaging with the back of his fingers, careful so the fabric of his glove would not rub up on his skin. Had he been deprived of affection for so long, was he this lethargic that even this single motion as they treaded felt like heaven’s pure water embracing him? It was such a nice feeling. If the Italian wasn’t careful, he’d have a passed out Adept to carry the remaining way to their designated location. And where could this destination be, really…? Opening his eyes again halfway, he noted, “This seems like a residential area.”

   “You have a sharp eye.” The older commented, a modest, yet sincere smile adorning his lips. At the very least, he could be a caring soul mate for the blond, where no one else was able to. Where no one else cared. Who besides him and Moniqa would worry about him being currently homeless? Who would actually _do_ something about it? He, personally, would do everything in his power to help. Something as big as giving him most of his funds, or as outwardly small as this tender caress. Even this was making his partner so content… the calming contours of his features relieved him, and made his heart swell with bittersweet gladness. “Not far.”

   It could be after midday, yet one was not able to tell with the veil of clouds above. Dry leaves still brushed their boots as they went by, caught in the same breeze wave since dawn. They did not think about this now, as they had much, much more dwelling in their minds, but… this was the day that would set their paths into another course. They’d still walk it together, though, and that was what mattered most. Even so… for now, they’d wished things would have stayed the way they were, with Asimov not having become ruthless, them not needing to worry about internal conflict. Life and Fate had a way of stabbing you in the back, however, so something would have happened sooner or later. Some do not survive the blood loss. They’d fight on, nevertheless, because there was no one else that would fight their battle for them…

   …yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing about this that should have taken two months.
> 
> I think all my fics can easily be described as "self-indulgent blabbering".
> 
> Uh, this actually was not supposed to be the complete version of chapter 2. I had the entire chapter planned out, but ends up, I blabbered so much up until this point that it reached 8,000 words just midway, and I realized not only that it was getting too long, yet also, like this, I would never attain my goal of posting chapter 2 before New Year. So I basically had to "cut it in half". Chapter 2 will actually be both chapter 2 and 3 now. They are/will only be in Zeno's and Gunvolt's POVs, but if "chapter 2" is finally over in chapter 3, chapter 4 will be in Axl's POV for sure. This is still a crossover.


End file.
